


Comfort

by dleigh



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon, Points of View, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-23
Updated: 2004-05-23
Packaged: 2018-12-27 00:45:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12070311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dleigh/pseuds/dleigh
Summary: There's nothing like a sense of comfort to get you through it all.





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

Pulling the door open, the track screeching, I toss a look over my shoulder at them. Both of them drilling into me with their eyes. One set of eyes screams assuredness while the other set desperately trying to convey nonchalance. 

I huff a chuckle and wave them in, watching their bodies as they slink by me pushing into me for effect. A hip bump first followed by a hip push. Christ, they’re trying to outdo each other. Shit like this always makes me laugh.

Moving away from the door, “You can put your leather on the bar…sorry, no hall tree.” He looks at me like I’ve called his mother a cunt then finally moves to take off his jacket. He’s on my time now and needs to know his place. 

Shaking my head I go to the refrigerator and pull out three beers and lift the butter lid for a bottle of poppers. I hear music suddenly and glance to see him turning on the small boom box on the floor where my computer desk with all my shit…and *his*…used to be. The space where my sound system used to be just barks its emptiness. It killed to lose all my shit but my fucking system…Christ! 

As I reach into the drawer for the bottle opener it’s snatched out of my reach by a whirlwind followed by the bottles being snatched as well. Fucker better watch it! He looks at me, hand on hip, beer dangling in his hand as he guzzles from one of the three bottles; the other has been placed on the bar by the discarded leather.

“Are we gonna do this?” We hear, turning our attention to the third of our party. Nodding my head I turn back around and reach for the poppers that he thinks he’s about to snatch from my hands as well. “Quit fucking around fast hands,” I spit, proceeding to inhale my way to some comfortable numbness. Making way for the comfortable tightness…comfortable heat…comfortable bliss coming in such a very short time.

_‘Three’s A Crowd’_ has never been uttered by those that have experienced sandwiching between two hot bodies. Having your ass touched and fondled or your balls sucked while you stroke a long, thick hot dick in your hand while the mouth that’s attached to that dick’s body is raving about your beauty and technique. Doesn’t feel like any crowd I’ve encountered. A party maybe but definitely not a crowd. And being the sandwichee you’re the guest of honor. How good is that?

The hit starts to boil me, my pulse racing, as the comfortable numb takes over. I feel his hand on my face and his thumb rubbing my lips. “Suck it,” he says. 

My mouth opens immediately, slurping the appendage in because I’m not one to pass up sucking. Focusing my eyes on his, I wrap my arm around his waist and pull him to me tightly moving my mouth, with his finger, closer. 

As I open up his tongue snakes out and we meld. His finger is running over my tongue and when I inhale him, catch his scent, I suck his tongue for all he’s worth. So engrossed, he moans and we move into each other ever closer causing us to sway bumping into the refrigerator. 

I hear the crash of glass on the floor and feel the splash of the beer upon my jeans. I’m momentarily jostled, pulling away… want to push him off of me for spilling his goddamn beer. I don’t have much, but a clean floor, while empty of shit as it is, isn’t too much to ask for nowadays. 

_‘Fast hands’_ maybe, but add on _‘fumble fucking fingers'_ as well. When I’m about to rail into him he pulls my head back down and starts to ravage my mouth. Fuck it. That’s what that goddamn Swiffer contraption is for…or so *he* said. I’m not likely to clean it up, so he’ll be on his hands and knees cleaning after I’ve had him on his hands and knees adoring.

His mouth is so tight…and his kisses are so primal. When it was denied me or should I say, when I fucking pussied out and let myself be denied, I felt like I’d had my left ball cut off. 

Ring in my nose. Dick whipped. These thoughts run through my mind as his tongue laves mine and enough saliva floats between us to start a drool factory. Sloppy kissing isn’t always a good thing but when you’re so fucking aroused, hot, dick like a steel rod…the smacking, the licking…fuck, saliva can free fucking flow for all I care. Makes me smile into the kiss and when the smile comes…shit, I’m moaning like a bitch. I love kissing. 

“Ahem.” 

His hand is on my arm, pulling me into him tighter, if that’s at all possible, as he slinks down, grinding into me, slinking upward. Comfortable. 

“Ahem. Hello?”

Annoyed I pull away and stare at the interruption having forgotten that this was supposed to be a threesome. He’s standing there in his undies, hand stroking his cock while he looks on. Looking both turned on and shattered that he hasn’t been asked to play yet. 

We both laugh and push off to carry on where all the magic happens. Actually, all the magic happens all over this fucking loft…but it especially happens in that bedroom for a number of reasons I’m not quite drunk or high enough to espouse right now.

They both move to opposite sides of the bed leaving me standing on the last step watching them both. Both beautiful... both hot and hungry. Contrasted perfectly. Couldn’t be more different from each.

As the orange glow illuminates the room suddenly I see just how different they both are to me. While trolling I went with the intention that the two to be so vastly different from the other because, well, just because. 

"Underwear', as I will call him, slides his down his thighs and moves effortlessly across the bed. The other begins to peel his shirt off exposing his lithe body, trying to be so seductive in the ever increasing competition. 

He seems to struggle with this seemingly uncomplicated movement causing him to bump into the nightstand while trying to free his obviously large head. Reaching out to steady 'Big Head', as it seems fitting for the moment, I remember the bottle of poppers still in my hand. 

Thinking this a good time to refuel I proceed to do so. Finally wrenching the momentary albatross from around his neck, 'Big Head' stands there winking. From where I stand, his head doesn’t look that big, but whatever. 

“Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

“Can we bring the music in here with us?” 'Underwear' asks.

“No.” 

“Where’s the beer?” He dares to ask another pointless question. 

“I thought you were on drink patrol since I couldn’t get them fast enough for you,” I say to 'Big Head', rethinking the pointlessness of alcohol. 

Indignant he stands there while waiting to see if I’m going to go get them. Figuring out very quickly that I’m not, “Could you go get the beers? They’re in the kitchen on the counter,” 'Big Head' politely asks 'Underwear'.

'Underwear' looks at him like he’s crazy, then to me like I’m gonna say ‘That’s okay, I’ll get them,” or something. Yeah, right. When he realizes I’m not he gets up off the bed a little less effortlessly and stalks to the kitchen.

“No more talking,” I call out, silencing both of them. No time for words anymore. Not needed.

'Big Head' smiles and bats his eyelashes like I’ll be affected, which I’m not by the way, sidling up to me. Smiling, he grabs my hand and brings it to his mouth running my thumb over his lips, mimicking the earlier action. “Mmm, suck,” he says engulfing my thumb. In the second that he’s taken my thumb I hear the same lip smacking as the kisses and then my thumb is drenched in saliva. Comfortable.

Staring at me as he continues to gnaw and juice all over my thumb, he slowly backs us up into the bathroom and once we’re in there, turns us around. Waiting a second to see if I’ll balk and finding I won’t, he backs me up again, closing the door with his foot and my back. 

Pressing me up against the now closed door I feel him pressing into me. I could let him suck my thumb all night or I can let him suck something else. Like I said, let’s get on with it. Urgency takes over as I try to kick my shoes off; impatiently trying to get to skin….get all these clothes off me…I just want to feel comfortable. 

In our haste, I swing him around and push him up against the door switching our previous position. He grunts as his back and head hits the wood and his body rises up from his toes. Trying to smother me, maul me, pulling my hair out. It’s time to suck something else and I know just what it is, no doubt juicier.

I hear a faint thudding, knocking sound and don’t know if it’s us tumbling around the door, against the sink or against the glass stall because now it’s on. I love it when it’s on. It’s so fucking on that the air is thick and I could swear in my peripheral that the mirror and glass are fogging up. 

The knock seems incessant. What the fuck is that? I imagine something teetering and about to fall. If it’s the mirror I’ll fucking kill him. Then as I realize that it is the mirror but it’s actually his obviously large head that’s making the knocking sound. His obviously large head is being banged into it while I push in to him against the sink counter, with my hands locking his legs around my waist. No room between us. Can’t be any space…I need to be close, engulfed. I need to be comfortable. I need his space to be my space.

Just like I could swear that the mirror and the glass fogged up around us, I could swear that I was hearing background muffled sounds. Don’t know if it’s us emoting our grunts, dirty whispers or if I’m just delirious at this point. 

It’s then I realize that the muffled sound and incessant knocking along with his head is 'Underwear' and he’s banging on the door yelling for us to let him in. Now that I clue into it he sounds a little pissed. 

I pull away stepping towards the door and I hear a strangled, “Hey.” Glancing over, he’s about to continue with his drabble and I give him a look quieting him.

The door had been locked. Fucker. Twisting the door lock, I open and see Underwear standing there with three beers between two hands looking nonplussed. I stand between them in the sandwich position glancing from body to body. 'Underwear' and 'Big Head'. The competition that had begun at the door with the hip bumps was at a standstill. 

I watch how both of them are looking to each other, sizing the situation up, trying to figure out what’s going on. I lean into 'Underwear' , smelling him. Smells clean. Smells good. I look back at the lips I so deliciously ravaged and see the half opened jeans, red marks on his arms from where I manhandled him trying to eradicate the space. 

Looking back at 'Underwear' I take a step forward and he grins. I swear it’s the equivalent of the playground _‘neener neener'_. I smile back, slamming the door. 

“Three’s a crowd,” I toss through the barrier I’ve placed between him and us. The silence creeps up as I stare at the door, not daring to look back to his face. It takes about two seconds to shatter that silence as I hear the curses and finally the crash of what I presume to be three beer bottles being lobbed and finally crashing upon the floor. 

I uproot myself, moving back over to the sink counter, watching and waiting to see if I’ll get the same kindergarten smarm. Nothing there, not a trace of it. But I fucking swear, the crystal blue that I do see…gives me comfort.

“My head hurts,” he whispers and breaks the intensity of the moment. I will love him forever for giving me pause and understanding. It’s times like this when I trust him not to overdo it. And he never, ever disappoints me. Not anymore.

While he’s cleaning up the puddle and glass in the kitchen he can clean up the same mess in the bedroom when we’re finished. It’s his punishment for giving me this comfort.


End file.
